


Contract Negotiations

by IAmANonnieMouse



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: During Canon, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27080080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: "Why are you here?” Saito asks.Arthur turns away from the window. Saito is watching him, impeccably controlled as always. “You told me to come,” Arthur says, voice rough.There’s a glimmer of something—satisfaction?—in Saito’s eyes. “Good,” he says, and the word tumbles down Arthur’s spine.
Relationships: Arthur/Saito (Inception)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 25





	Contract Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [storm_of_sharp_things](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/gifts).



> Happy birthday, my darling mouse spouse!!!

Arthur’s up to his elbows in a gutted PASIV when his instincts hiss. He can feel eyes on him, the heaviness of another body in the room, but he forces himself not to turn around. He locked the door behind him when he arrived this morning. Nobody could’ve gotten in here who doesn’t already have a key.

 _Lock picking is a thing,_ his mind murmurs in a voice that sounds eerily similar to Eames. Arthur’s shoulders tighten. There’s a gun tucked under the table, but he doesn’t reach for it yet. He’s waiting to see the threat.

"You do not speak Japanese."

Saito’s voice cuts across the empty warehouse, echoing slightly. The tension in Arthur’s muscles shifts into wary anticipation. 

“No,” he says, biting back the _sir_ that wants to spill out. “What gave it away?”

He hears the click of dress shoes on the warehouse floor, the rustle of fabric. HIs skin tingles as Saito stops at Arthur’s back, the heat of his body a furnace.

“Hm,” Saito hums, leaning in close. He plucks the combination wrench off the table, close enough their arms brush, then moves to Arthur’s side.

“Did you need anything in particular?” Arthur asks, eyes fixed on the PASIV. Saito is an expensively-tailored mass in his peripheral vision. Arthur’s trying to ignore him. He’s failing.

Saito hums again, and Arthur stiffens.

There’s a flash of movement, then the cold kiss of metal against his skin. Saito runs the rounded edge of the wrench up Arthur’s throat, deliberately slow, and stops under his chin, pressing gently. 

“Look at me,” Saito says. 

Arthur inhales sharply, lets the wrench tilt his head higher.

“My name is Saito,” he says quietly. “Not Say-toe. Saito. Repeat. Sai.”

Arthur stares. The metal is starting to warm. “Sai,” he manages, voice uneven.

“No. _Sai._ ”

“Sai.”

“To.”

“To.”

“Saito.”

Arthur swallows. “Saito.”

Saito tilts his head ever-so-slightly. “Better.” He uses the wrench to tilt Arthur’s chin just a little higher. Enough for Arthur to feel the vulnerability. He meets Saito’s gaze and tells himself to breathe.

Across the warehouse, a door slams shut. Saito sighs and lowers the wrench. “We will practice again later.” 

He pulls away quickly, efficiently. By the time the others walk in, Saito looks like he’s just arrived and is deciding which chair to sit in.

Arthur raises an unsteady hand to his throat. 

“I didn’t see that coming,” Eames murmurs in his ear. 

Arthur spins, heart skipping. “What have I told you about standing behind me?”

Eames smirks. “Not to do it. But you tell me not to do many things, so I just assume you’re joking now.”

Arthur shakes his head. “You didn’t see what coming?”

“You and Mr. Saito.” Eames pronounces it perfectly, damn him. “What made you fall for him? Was it the classy rug at his mistress’ secret house?”

“Keep your damn voice down. And I _haven’t_ fallen for him, not that it’s any of your business.”

“I’d argue it _is_ my business, since he’s the man who will by paying me at the end of this fool’s job.”

Arthur turns back to the PASIV and reaches for a screwdriver. Eames places it in his hand.

“Thanks,” Arthur says, looking at him suspiciously. 

“I’m just saying.” Eames leans against the table, hands tucked in his pockets. “You don’t seem the type to fuck a client.”

“I’m not fucking him,” Arthur hisses. “And what did I just say about keeping your fucking voice down?”

“He’s out.” Eames gestures across the room. Arthur glances over his shoulder. Saito is sprawled in one of their lawn chairs, hooked up to a PASIV. “Yusuf’s been making him do some trial runs on his own, so he can get used to it.”

Arthur grunts and tightens the first screw he sees. “Nothing’s happening. Nothing’s _going_ to happen.”

“Alright,” Eames says, drawing the word out. “But if something _were_ to happen—”

Arthur growls.

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. I think you two have a lot in common.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Get your ass in a chair for the damn briefing and leave my love life alone.”

Eames doffs an invisible hat and picks the seat at Arthur’s side, because of course he does.

*

They spend the rest of the job circling each other. Passing glances and weighted stares. Arthur can’t keep his eyes from drifting to Saito whenever he’s in the room. There are days when he can still feel the cool metal of the wrench resting against his throat.

But there’s so much Arthur needs to focus on—research for the job, Dom spiraling down the drain, Ariadne who, for all her genius, is still green as can be. 

He doesn’t have time for this. For whatever _thing_ is happening between them.

(And if he’s a little on edge, waiting for the moment Saito will resume their _practicing,_ well. Nobody needs to know.)

Saito’s eyes follow him around the warehouse, the dream levels, and Arthur thinks, very quietly, _Okay. Maybe. After._

*

The box arrives the day after Robert Fischer announces his plans to dismantle Fischer Morrow. It’s left on the doorstep of Arthur's Paris safehouse, which is registered to an alias.

Arthur looks at the small box, taking in the careful wrapping, and feels something inside him twitch. 

It’s worry, he tells himself. He’s worried how Saito found his safehouse.

He opens the box. Inside is a small card and a wrench.

_Charles de Gaulle. 8pm._

Arthur carefully picks up the wrench and tells himself it means nothing.

He locks up his safehouse that night and doesn’t look back.

*

There’s a man waiting for Arthur at the airport. He’s quiet and efficient, and he whisks Arthur through security and onto a private jet before Arthur can blink.

Arthur crests the stairs and inhales slowly. He can’t lie to himself now. This means something.

“You came,” Saito says, voice low and steady.

“I came,” Arthur says. He sits across from Saito and tries to force himself to relax.

“Have you been practicing?” Saito asks, eyebrows raised.

Arthur licks his lips. Breathes. “Yes,” he says, “Mr. Saito.”

Saito hums. “Good.”

Arthur tries to pretend the word has no effect on him. Based on Saito’s smirk, he doesn’t succeed.

They make small talk as the crew preps for take off. Arthur declines a drink, but doesn’t argue when Saito requests one for him. 

“Fasten your seatbelt,” Saito says. “We’ll be taking off soon.”

Arthur glances at him, then complies.

He can feel it now, the weight of everything they’re leaving unsaid. This is a dance, a negotiation. And every gesture, word, and look means something.

Arthur sips his drink and tries to calm his racing heart.

*

There’s a limo waiting for them when they land, because of course there is. Arthur doesn’t ask where they are, or where they’re headed. As he walks at Saito’s side, he can feel the cool weight of Saito’s gaze. His approval.

They sit across from each other like bookends. The window to the front seat is closed. They are, for all intents and purposes, alone.

Arthur glances out the window. Adrenaline is coursing through his veins, mixing with anticipation. He’s almost dizzy with it all.

“Why are you here?” Saito asks. 

Arthur turns away from the window. Saito is watching him, impeccably controlled as always. “You told me to come,” Arthur says, voice rough. 

There’s a glimmer of something—satisfaction?—in Saito’s eyes. He says nothing else for the rest of the journey.

When the car comes to a stop, Arthur waits for Saito to exit the car first. Then, he undoes his seatbelt and climbs out, taking his place at Saito’s side.

“Good,” Saito says, and the word tumbles down Arthur’s spine. “Come.”

Arthur follows him through a door, then a lobby, onto an elevator. He couldn’t say where he is, or what type of building he’s in. His focus has narrowed to the man standing next to him, watching the numbers rise.

The elevator stops. Penthouse, of course. Saito unlocks the door and waves Arthur inside.

“Would you like something to drink?” Saito asks.

Arthur stops halfway between the door and the kitchen. He knows this place. He did research on it for the Cobol job. He knows what Saito pays for taxes on it, and what account the money comes from. 

He closes his eyes. Breathes. 

He hears footsteps. Dress shoes on polished wood floors. A finger hooks under his chin, tilting his head up. Arthur blinks open his eyes.

“I asked if you wanted a drink,” Saito says softly.

“No, thank you,” Arthur breathes. 

Saito hums. “So polite. Say my name, Arthur.”

“Saito.”

“Again.”

“Saito.”

“Once more,” Saito says, the words pressed to the fluttering pulse at Arthur’s throat.

Arthur exhales, and lets every hint of tension fall from his body. _“Saito.”_

“Good.” Saito wraps a hand around Arthur’s neck, just tight enough that Arthur can’t possibly ignore it. “Why are you here, Arthur?”

Arthur’s eyelids flutter. “You told me to come.”

“And if I told you to kneel for me?” Saito asks, words soft as silk.

Arthur closes his eyes, and slowly, carefully falls to his knees. Saito’s hand is an anchor at his throat, following him all the way down.

“Good,” Saito says, and Arthur trembles. He could become addicted to that word, and the things it does to him. Saito steps closer, placing a foot between Arthur’s knees, and murmurs, “Now, what shall we do next?”

*

“So,” Eames drawls on their next job together, “when should I expect an invitation in the mail? I imagine it will be a large wedding. Saito isn’t the type of man who would settle for anything less than the best. Case in point.”

Arthur grits his teeth and yanks several wires out of the gutted PASIV in front of him.

“I hope those weren’t important,” Eames comments.

“What do you want, Eames?” Arthur snarls.

Eames props a hip on the edge of the table, face serious. “I’m happy for you, Arthur,” he murmurs. “I mean it.”

Arthur sighs. “What gave it away, asshole?”

Eames smirks. “You have a rather lovely necklace of hickeys around your throat,” he says, “and an extremely expensive necklace of silver peeking out from under your collar.”

Arthur flushes. “Nobody was supposed to see that.”

“What, the hickeys?” Eames asks. “Don’t worry, I’m pulling your leg, there’s only one.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“I’m a thief, darling,” Eames says. “I’ve an eye for shiny, expensive things. The rest of the team are plebians, they haven’t noticed a thing.”

“Okay,” Arthur says. He pokes at the wires half-heartedly.

“How long’s it been?” Eames asks.

Arthur glances around the room, but the extractor is under with their architect, and the chemist ran out a couple minutes ago for some more ingredients.

“Eight months,” he says quietly. “He asked me to move in with him.”

“And?” Eames asks, eyes wide. 

“You’re a worse gossip than Ariadne,” Arthur says.

“Nonsense.” Eames winks. “I know _way_ more than she does.”

Arthur shakes his head and reaches for a wrench—the one Saito had left on his doorstep all those months ago. “My stuff’s already halfway across the ocean, Eames. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Eames says, voice low and sincere. Then, he flips a switch, and grins widely. “I know where to send my wedding presents now, ta, love. Tell me, does Saito prefer silver or steel?”

Arthur shoves him playfully. “Go do… _something._ We can talk about my love life later.”

Eames saunters off, whistling loudly, and Arthur smiles. He glances around again, to make sure the team is still under, then raises a hand to the metal resting against the base of his throat. As if on cue, his phone vibrates, and he glances at the screen. 

_Your suits need a room of their own._

Arthur smiles and writes back, _Good thing your penthouse is so spacious._

There’s a pause, then: _I just received a text from Mr. Eames offering his congratulations._

There’s a screenshot attached. The text says, “Good job catching the flighty bugger, I knew you had it in you.”

“Eames!” Arthur shouts, tossing aside his phone. “You’re such an asshole!”

**Author's Note:**

> Dei wrote the scene I faded to black on after Arthur kneels for Saito... you should definitely go take a peek ;)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Contract Negotiations: Rebuttal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27229219) by [deinvati](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/pseuds/deinvati)




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